and for every dream, a grave
by satheri
Summary: She must believe she was born into this cruel land for a purpose: to save the Uzumaki Clan from their doomed future. To stop Uzushiogakure from being razed to the ground, she thought, perhaps they ought to join Konoha instead. SI/OC, Uzumaki Mito.
1. prologue

prologue

* * *

She was born in a haze of sinking relief and growing terror. A child of the whirlpool, with the wild current thrumming in her veins and a gunshot still ringing in her dreams. She remembers she turned to run. She remembers the blood, hers, and the hand she clung to, so tight, that squeezed and squeezed and said _don't let go, don't go, stay with me._ She remembers a mother's tears dripping down on her face like a warm rain.

She never let go, but death took her anyway.

There was an unending stillness, a numbness so utter and desolate she lost herself in it. The ghost of a woman screamed, haunted by a life that wouldn't let her fade to nothing, cold air stinging her brand new flesh.

A stranger to herself, she dreamed of home, lulled by the slow hum of a dark voice. _Mito_ , it called her, holding her ever tight as they ran. They were always running, the woods warm and thick around them, casting endless shadows. Mito couldn't tell where they ran to. Perhaps there wasn't even a destination, and they simply ran from something _._

She missed heated water and beds and electricity and everyone she ever loved and her phone and speech. Around her, campsites, with raised tents and roasting meat over a fire pit; endless woods, with birds felled from the trees by sharp kunai for dinner; cold rivers, where they bathed and drank and fished from freely. She longed to see a map, to pinpoint her predicament, and build her plans.

She was a few months in the world when she realized it wouldn't matter, that nothing would matter except surviving, and protecting them. Her family.

* * *

It was noon. They trudged through the brush towards the rushing stream. A small boy raced ahead of them, laughing, a sharp kunai glinting in his hand. ''Look, mom, berries!''

''These aren't fit to eat. You'll get sick.'' Their mother dragged him away by the ear, even as he whined and tossed his head in protest.

Mito liked her brother. He was a whirlwind of noise and childish energy, always smiling.

As soon as they spotted the river, he dashed ahead, splashing all over, balancing himself precariously on top of the water, and after him the woman knelt to drink and wash her arms. Mother eased her over to the bank.

Laying flat on her back, Mito stared up at clouds adrift and the sun burning over the treetops. The boy's smile was brighter, leaning over her. He sat by, tossing pebbles into the river, as their mother stripped her and washed her clean. Dunked bodily in the cold stream, Mito wailed.

''Is she hungry, Ma?''

''Might be,'' she said, like everyone was some type of hungry all the time and there was nothing to it.

''I wanna play with her.''

''She's too little.'' She laid Mito out on the grass again, all curled up, endless brown eyes staring. ''Think you can catch a fish, Hayato?''

''Watch me!'' He yelled, wading into the river. "I'll catch the biggest one, believe it!"

Their mother held Mito to her chest. "Hayato," she said suddenly, a hunted look coming over her face. She grabbed a hold of the boy's arm, wrenching him back, even as she shouldered Mito. Then they were leaping back through the air, into the trees, screaming.

A pair of kunai whistled through the air where the boy's head had been.

Slowly, in twisted bubbles, two dark shapes rose out of the water and stood, molding themselves into men. "Uzumaki stragglers," the taller man spat, the hiss of steel cutting the air as they unsheathed their blades. "You have some nerve, to walk right up to our territory."

Mother hitched a breath. "I can't—we should—" Then she stopped, suddenly, and pushed Mito off into Hayato's arms. The boy was barely big enough to hold her. She handed Hayato a kunai with a strip of paper wrapped around it. "If the worst happens, use it."

Then she dropped, landing in a heap of suspicious eyes and quivering hands on the river bank in front of the strangers, bowing deeply down to the ground. "Please, I… I only want to pass peacefully…"

They snarled in response. In a blur, they hefted heavy swords that glinted dangerously over their heads, charging so fast towards them they vanished. The river rose up after them, flooding the trees in a furious wave.

In a blink, Mother straightened, arms outstretched. From her open palms the wind burst forth in whirling bullets, spinning into the water with great splashes that rippled over the waves.

The shinobi dodged narrowly, dancing on top of the flooded river as they lunged on either side of her, throwing a flurry of spinning dark metal in their wake. Mother leapt over their shuriken, ducked under a fist, and jabbed her kunai with startling precision into the man's kneecap.

There was a deafening bang, and a wail, as his leg exploded, strips of flesh and shards of bone blown out into the air, and his body was sent careening over the water. His blood oozed into the waves in a cloud of red. Slowly he tipped under.

With a cry, Mother turned her attention to the other man, bearing down upon him in a flurry of quick strikes. The man dodged, and twisted, and punched her in the stomach. She doubled over, gasping, and he grabbed her by the hair and-

Hayato screamed, he screamed like the skies were crashing down, and let the kunai fly.

It landed two feet away in the water, exploding in a spray of waves, but for a split second, the man turned. In an instant, Mother swept his legs with her own, and jabbed her kunai into his throat as he fell, dissolving into water. "Hayato, watch out!"

Suddenly the presence of death was behind them, ghoulish and macabre, in a sickening wave of pure terror. Mito could taste his foul breath on her flesh. Her bones shivered beneath her skin, as she clung to Hayato's neck. They screamed together as the blade sang through the air.

There was a swirl of blue at their backs.

Then Mother was with them, her arms outstretched, pulling her children to her chest. The sword embedded itself deeply into her back, blood oozing down the front of her dress, warm and crimson.

A curse left the man as he wrenched the blade free, and swung, hitting only air.

They jumped, together, on the strength of Mother's shaking legs, and landed in a heap on the next branch.

Mother dipped a hand into her chest, her fingers coming away stained scarlet. She scrawled something on the tree bark with a shaking hand. Then she bent over it, pressing both hands over the seal, gasping.

A barrier of shimmering blue warped into existence, flickering. Mother seemed to sag. Hayato reached out, his fingers knocking against the seal barrier. He pressed his face to it, nose flattened against it like it were glass.

"Follow the river," she said.

"Mother, you—"

On the other side, Mother wept.

The shinobi was there, cutting into the barrier. It held, batting his sword away like a fly. Mother staggered to her feet, pushing herself up with a gasp. "Go. Follow the river."

Hayato didn't move.

"I'll catch up," she wheezed.

"P-promise?"

"Would I lie?"

He shook his head no, turned, and started running.

And that was how Uzumaki Mito escaped her first brush with death, safely ensconced in her five-year-old brother's arms. What world is this, she wondered, and she had never before felt so utterly and helplessly horrified.

She knew then, irrevocably, that there was no hope of ever escaping this world of violence, of attending school or driving a car, of finding a nine-to-five job or watching television or living in peace, of getting _something_ of herself back, even if it was just the illusion of normalcy.

All she had was her life to cling to, and this boy, whose tears rained down on her, and his fluttering heartbeat against her ear.

* * *

The man found them, lost and starving, collapsed against a poplar tree. He came upon them quietly, timid as a doe, eyes darting around nervously under a shock of wavy red hair. His stare was a vivid blue, and kind, but his hands were dripping scarlet. He couldn't have been older than sixteen.

As his shadow fell over them, Mito stared in a paralyzed terror. For an instant, she didn't dare move. His dark armor was stained with blood that wasn't his, and on the front of it was emblazoned the scarlet whirlpool of the Uzumaki. She watched the man press two bloody fingers to the side of her brother's throat.

Mito wailed. _Don't touch him, don't-_

Hayato's eyes fluttered open slowly. His jaw went slack as he gasped, eyes wide with recognition and sorrow. "Kaito?"

He threw himself into the man's arms, sobbing. Mito was squeezed between them. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, feeling something bitter curl in the back of her throat. She had never seen this man before. Why did Hayato trust him?

He lifted them off the ground suddenly, like it was nothing, and she screamed.

"Easy," he whispered. "You're home."

To the steady rhythm of his hurried footfalls, Mito fell asleep despite herself.

* * *

When she came to, they were at the Uzumaki compound, where the people looked at them like they were ghost children, with eyes full of pity and horror. They handed Mito off to a woman to nurse, and Hayato sat by, never letting her out of his sight.

"We're home," he choked out, smiling at her. "We're home. They've sent people out to look for Mother — we'll all be together soon. Stay strong, Mito-chan!"

The woman nursing Mito, with strong hands and tired eyes, looked at him like he was a wounded baby bird fallen from the nest. Gently, oh so gently, she put them to bed in the low mattresses, under the flickering candlelight.

She let the children sleep. They slept the dreamless sleep of those who had been stripped down to the bone.

* * *

Mother was buried in a grey morning in a backyard full of shallow graves. There was no body to dig for. Only a barren tombstone, with the words _Uzumaki Asuka, mother, wife, kunoichi_ etched onto the granite, and a chain of pale white daisies woven around it. The mourners gathered around tearlessly, full of whispers.

"Asuka was a brave woman, one of our best seal masters. Her loss will be felt," murmured an elderly man.

Cousin Kaito, who'd found them, cleared his throat. "When we heard the eastern coumpound had been razed to the ground, we thought there'd been no survivors. To think she made it this far, with a baby and a - a very brave young man," he shot Hayato an encouraging smile.

A tall old woman spoke in a low hissing voice, leaning heavily on her cane. "She truly wanted to make it home. To alert us. To see her children safe. We must not let her sacrifice be in vain. In three days' time, we'll gather our forces and march upon our enemies—"

And then the speech wasn't about Mother at all, but about the war. Mito felt a wave of simmering disgust, of revulsion, that they'd dare use her name that way, as a rallying tool, with no proper mourning, no tears, no songs, no stop to grieve _._ They buried her, and marched on.

In a world where shinobi dropped like flies, grief was stunted and disconsolate. In the soft places between life and death, in the gaps between the will of the clan that pressed down on them, violent and desperate for fresh blood.

* * *

Every afternoon, Hayato would sit outside with Mito in his arms, waiting for her, until the stars gleamed in the sky.

"Mother said she'd catch up," he would whisper, rocking her. "She doesn't lie."

Mito could feel the sight of the tombstone etched on the back of his eyelids, every time he closed his eyes, just as she saw it. Yet he held on with a child's trust, and she held on to him.

On the third day, the day the shinobi marched for war, Kaito crouched beside them, and sighed. "We're going after them. I promise." He paused, as if he could see it wasn't enough. He ruffled the boy's hair, standing. "When you're older, you can too."

"I will." Hayato peered down at Mito's tiny face. "'m sorry. I'm sorry if I have to leave you."

 _You won't,_ she thought, clinging, _you won't._ Her fingers wrapping around his thumb, Mito swore she'd follow him anywhere.

* * *

They taught her to write before she could run.

Cradled gently in her Great-Aunt's lap, the woman's weathered hand guiding her own small one, Mito traced the characters to her family name on the parchment rolled out on the ground before them. The brush was clumsy in her hand, blotching the ink.

うずまき

Uzumaki. The whirlpool.

"This is us," Great-Aunt Sakae taught her, pointing at the paper. She drew a curved spiral next to Mito's childish scrawl. "This is the Clan."

Tugging her sleeve, Mito watched intently. "What is the Clan?" She knew what it meant, yet she didn't understand _._

"The Clan is all we've got." There was a twist to the elder's lips, something not quite a smile. "The Clan is where we live and die."

Mito nodded, glancing at the shaky characters on the paper. As she raised her head, rows upon rows of shelves, scrolls of parchment stacked upon them in great dusty piles, stared back at her.

"The Uzumaki have a life force so stunning and powerful it lingers long after our bodies should fail us naturally. Long ago, our ancestors found a way to channel this life force into their messages. They carved out a piece of their strength, and filled their words with power. They would leave their messages to their children, to their brothers and sisters. Their words became an extension of their wills. They could protect. They could destroy. They could contain. They could summon. They could do anything they wanted them to do, if they put their heart into them."

Mito struggled to get up, to move away from the woman's lap. Sakae let her, setting her down on the ground.

"But why?" asked the girl.

"So that their words could help the ones that mattered the most to them." She reached out, brushing Mito's hair away from her face. "So they could help the Clan."

Mito thought of Mother, and the shimmering blue barrier she had trapped herself behind. She thought of Mother, watching her children walk away, leaving her to fight and die.

"Use your words to strengthen the Uzumaki, Mito. That is your birthright."

* * *

 _Uzumaki. Uzumaki. Uzumaki Naruto._

They were dead, she thought. They were all dead, bodies washed away by the whirlpool in a flood of red.

She thought of words. She thought of blood. She thought of Hayato's fluttering heart under her ear. She thought of her hand encircling his thumb. She thought of their mother's broken promise. She thought of their mother's love.

Perhaps it was a child's dream, but – Uzushiogakure. She wanted to save it. She wanted to change the course of history, and it was selfish and she didn't care, because they were living breathing people who loved her and she was tired of accepting sacrifices, and she wanted them to live.

* * *

Author's Note: So I was looking at some Mito fanart, and I wanted to read a Mito SI/OC and searched for one, and there weren't any that I could find. So I got in my feelings, and this popped out. I do have plans (very gruesome plans) for it. This is just the start to Mito's wild wild ride, so hop on, folks.

Question for reviewers: when the Senju show up, would you rather it be a lighthearted fluff scene or an adrenaline-filled action scene? I have plans for either :p


	2. Chapter 1

chapter one

* * *

Her first seal was the hardest.

Every morning, Mito had calligraphy practice with Great-Aunt Sakae in the dusty old library room, where she bent over the scrolls and tried, to no avail, to match the shining example of dexterity of the seal master whose hands never wavered or smudged or inked an inch out of line. She inevitably left those sessions fascinated and frustrated by turns.

Always, Great-Aunt would lay a wrinkled hand on her shoulder, and remind her for the umpteenth time that Mito's mother had once been her brightest student, and that she expected great things from Mito herself. It certainly never sounded like she did, though. She would stare sternly over the brim of her teacup, pursing her lips, and pronounce her a failure.

"It's crooked."

"Blotchy."

"Is that supposed to be a kanji?"

"Unacceptable."

"Substandard."

"Lopsided."

Until, one day, she snatched the scroll away from Mito in a blink, turned it over in her hands, narrowed her eyes at it, and declared, at length, with a disdainful raise of her eyebrows, "Passable."

Then she promptly ripped the paper in half.

Mito almost choked on her tea in her barely repressed outrage. She'd finally – finally! – done it right after years of tutoring –

Great-Aunt threw the pieces at her, smiling faintly. "Now, you must stick them together."

The girl blinked slowly, frowning. She held the shreds together in her hands.

That earned her a scoff. "With chakra, child, with chakra! You think sealing is a matter of ink and paper? Any fool can write lines. If you can't channel your chakra into the paper, you will never seal anything in your life. Now bring me this paper whole next lesson." And with that, Sakae delicately downed her teacup and rose, ushering Mito out of the room.

"Wait – how am I supposed to find my chakra –"

"Meditate."

The door shut in her face. Mito, turning over the shreds in her hands with a sigh, realized she had until tomorrow. Her stomach flipped unpleasantly. Naturally, she turned to Hayato first. She ambushed him near the training grounds as he practiced his shuriken aim, throwing her hands up on his shoulders in a silent request for a piggyback ride. He never denied her, despite his half-hearted complaints about how heavy she was getting.

"Brother," she ventured, resting her chin softly on his shoulder, "What does chakra feel like?"

There was a hitch in his steps as he pondered the question. "Eh? Well, ah, to me it feels like a jolt, you know! Like when you drink too much coffee. Or when you're kind of falling asleep and then you start at a loud noise, and suddenly you're wide awake and everything is just... clearer. And you want to get up and move. You know?"

Mito shook her head slowly. "I don't think I do. I'm supposed to meditate on it."

Hayato made a soft noise of disgust in the back of his throat. "Ew. Boring."

She muffled a smile against his shoulder. "Take me home, please?" She closed her eyes. It was a lovely summer day, the sunshine warm on the back of her neck. "Wait – don't run. I wanna meditate."

He frowned doubtfully. "Aren't you supposed to meditate… like… sitting down… near a pond… somewhere… with like… monks?"

"I don't think so. You're just supposed to find what makes you feel peaceful."

"Ah."

Mito gazed out into the green fields, the tall blades of grass swaying, still wet with morning dew. Her eyes falling shut, she felt the quiet rhythm of his steps and the sunshine on her face, the gentle breeze rustling her hair. They were almost home when she spoke. There was a coldness seeping into her stomach, something intangible and floating. "It feels like I'm a leaf. Drifting in the wind."

Weightless. Spiraling.

"That's weird." Hayato smiled a little. "I guess it feels different for everyone, huh?"

It was surprisingly difficult to grasp that weightlessness in her belly, to take the unseen force at her core that carried her away like a strong gust pulling at her hair, sweeping her clear off her feet, and channel it through her fingertips into the paper. It felt like trying to hold the wind in her hands. She couldn't catch it. It was the current keeping her afloat. She wasn't its master. She was merely a conduit.

She thought of windmills in a summer day, spinning high in the clean blue air. She thought of birds and the breeze beneath their wings. She thought of a boat at sea unfurling its sails, picking up speed.

She clenched the pieces of the torn scroll in her hands, feeling a soft flutter dance across her fingertips.

When she presented it to Great-Aunt Sakae, with a beaming smile so wide it nearly broke her face in half, Mito laid the paper out on the low table with a flourish. It was whole, triumphantly whole, small faded creases running through its middle.

The elder inspected it at length, pinching the edges between her fingers as she pulled them in opposite directions. It held together. She smoothed out the creases with a stern finger, frowning. "Hmm."

Then she slapped it unceremoniously on Mito's forehead and told her to hold it there. She strictly forbid the use of hands.

Then she had Mito walking up the walls for weeks on end. Then she had her hang upside down from the ceiling by her feet, like some sort of deranged bat, while still keeping the paper attached to her forehead. And Great-Aunt Sakae sat there, calmly sipping her tea, without a care in the world, airily criticizing Mito's balance whenever she fell. While still keeping up their usual calligraphy practice every day. While giving Mito a pile of scrolls on seal theory as tall as her waist to read through.

It was hell on earth, and Mito could only grit her teeth and bear it, because she wanted to make seals, and this woman would teach her, eventually, though she had begun to hallucinate that perhaps Great-Aunt merely enjoyed giving tasks to see her suffer, and had no intention of actually ever taking her as an apprentice.

Just as she felt about to boil over with indignant rage, Mito decided she would ask.

At that, Great-Aunt's lips curled in amusement. "Of course. I was only waiting for your initiative," she said, innocently.

Mito's eye twitched.

Her first seal was humble and neat. A simple storage seal that consisted of three kanji, two sets of parallel lines around them, in a solid square shape, and required a distribution of physical energy to spiritual energy of about three quarters to one for efficient activation.

引運 押

Pull, carry, push.

It was simple. It was wonderful. It felt like she had grown wings.

Normally, all seals crafted by Uzumaki seal makers were considered property of the Clan, but given it was her first, Great-Aunt let her have it. "Do with it as you will," she said, with a smile that Mito in her wildest dreams would have thought almost proud.

She kept the seal under her pillow for days, sealing and unsealing various objects into it, enjoying the pure wonder of watching things vanish seamlessly into the paper, and thinking I made this.

* * *

With her first seal, childhood fell shut like a storybook. Growing up was the Uzumaki clan at war.

Tightening security around the compound's walls. Sending out replacement squads to every outpost as the previous ones came back battered or didn't come back. Zealously protecting their seal shipments like they had more value than people. Rationing food (shinobi first and civilians later because this was the time for sacrifices, they said). Cursing the enemy Clans for not just rolling over and dying already.

Rooting out spies. Mass-producing weapons of destruction to gather funds for other weapons of destruction. Lecturing children on security protocols and the best place to aim kunai in a man's throat. Wounded shinobi rushing home to see their loved ones one last time before they bled to death or rotted inside out. Civilians hungry and harsh fighting their everyday battles. Hoping they were safe. Hoping the war wouldn't reach past the compound's walls. Hoping they would win. Praying over graves.

The mass production of weapons was where Mito factored in, at first. As soon as she created her first working seal, she was assigned to work as one of the Clan's exploding seal makers. Her colleagues were twenty people in all, working under the supervision of seal master Sakae, and Mito was the youngest of them, only barely five. They would start work at six in the afternoon and go as deep into the night as they needed to, until they finished the amount set for the day, with the exact types and specifications ordered, no matter how unreasonable, because it was necessary. Sitting in a row in the tables at night with their heads bowed low, tirelessly inking tag after tag, and hanging them out to dry on a wire that crossed the room, still fresh, so they could get to the next tag, as fast as possible. Productivity was key.

If Mito ever stopped to rest, to wipe away the beads of sweat on her forehead, to wring out her aching hands, she could feel their disapproving glares boring into the back of her head.

Be fast, don't keep us here all night, don't dawdle, little girl.

She learned to be fast and precise. She learned more about controlling the range, radius, intensity and activation time of an explosion than she ever thought she would. She learned how to copy seals from models to perfection. She learned how to customize her own modifications on the fly. She learned it all thanklessly, with the methodical energy of an automaton, without praise or encouragement beyond knowing that somewhere, maybe, if she was lucky, one of her tags might help save her brother's life.

Because, the spring she turned five, Hayato had left. She'd clung to his chest, getting snot all over his armor, but he didn't complain, only ran his rough hands through her scarlet hair, and attempted a grin. His lips wobbled, but shinobi didn't cry. Mito wiped away at his cheeks, saying nothing, pretending not to see.

"Don't go," she had begged, instead.

He swallowed, shook his head. "I gotta."

"You don't got to," Mito argued, clenching her hands around his arms, "You could get around it. Pretend to be sick. Eat some herbs that make you sick and –"

"Mito," he said softly, chiding her, "that's dishonorable."

"Aren't you a shinobi? Ninja have no honor."

"That's only true for enemies," Hayato smoothed the hair away from her eyes. "We don't dishonor our family." He smiled like he knew she hadn't really meant it, but she did. She meant anything, to see him alive.

Mito felt a bubble of desperation bursting in her chest. "Can't I come with you?"

"Little sister, where I go there's only…" Death, he didn't say. "Battles."

"Better than facing it alone."

"I won't be alone. The best warriors in the Clan will be—"

"The best warriors in the Clan are not your sister!" She pounded her fists into his chest. "They won't watch your back like you're the most precious thing in the world. Which you are."

It drew a smile out of him. "You're so small," he whispered, patting her head, laughing humorlessly. "And stubborn. But you don't know..."

She bristled. "I'm not useless. I've made tags." Tags that killed people, she didn't say. She hadn't pulled the trigger, but she had provided the means, all the same. How many? How many dead? Mito gazed down at her pale, bloodless hands, her jaw clenched. "I would kill for you." Heavens knew she'd killed for less.

He stared into her eyes, then, slow and lingering. Whatever he saw there seemed to vaguely unsettle him, and he looked away first. She pulled at his hands and locked gazes again, intently.

"Don't look at me, I don't decide who comes. The captains do that. You know, they make you spar and do jutsu, and they do a formal assessment of everyone's skill and then they assign you to an unit. But you wouldn't make the cut -" He grimaced as she punched him. "Not right now, anyway."

"How," Mito said simply. She felt she'd already won. He was already talking as if she could.

"You'd have to be older. And stronger, I wouldn't let you come just to get you killed. And it'll be difficult to impress the captains. They don't like to send out girls."

It was frowned upon for kunoichi to fight in the front lines. They were assigned, in their own ways, as infiltrators and spies and sealmakers and medics and guards for the compounds and outposts while the troops were deployed. In times of war, with their forces all mobilized, women made up about a third of the compound's guard, near half of their sealmakers, and over a quarter of the patrols scattered around their minor outposts, but only a tenth of the Clan's frontal assault force. Kunoichi were efficient and useful, but there was an accepted guideline to keep them away from the brunt of the war, in order for them to repopulate the clan with the surviving men.

There were exceptions, however, because no life was deemed too valuable to be lost, if it could at least take down enough enemies with it before it fell.

"Does Cousin Kaede fight in the front lines?" She'd taught Mito her basic taijutsu lessons. Perhaps she could ask her, beg her -

"No. She is a guard, doing security seals for the outposts. Cousin Shimizu fights, though. She's half Hoshigaki, and her arms are as broad as oars. You're not nearly that strong to do that much damage. You'd have to learn ninjutsu, or battle seals." He sighed, holding her in place as she tried to bolt, to run out somewhere, to enlist. "Mito, I leave tomorrow. You won't make it in time. Just calm down, all right?"

She felt smothered, her chest so tight it hurt. "How can I watch you go?"

"You'll just have to trust me. I'll come back in one piece."

"Like you trusted Mother?"

He flinched like he'd been slapped.

There was a silence, thick and rotting between them.

Mito reached out, touching him softly on the wrist. "Sorry."

He didn't say anything, pulling her in for a hug. His voice was so light against her hair she could have sworn she'd imagined it. "I never forgave her for that. If I die, you don't have to forgive me, all right? You can hate me. It's alright."

He crumpled like a little boy in her arms, and she held him tight one last time, before she let him go. It was like he had been cut away from her. She felt she was bleeding from veins she didn't know she had. She would lay awake at night with phantom pains where his arms used to wrap around her.

She knew then, with an inescapable finality, she'd put herself in the war. She'd put the most important piece of herself in it, her heart, and now she might as well put the rest of her.

* * *

The days ran away from her in a haze of exhaustion. She woke up early for weapons practice. She ran up the river three miles in the mornings until she reached the waterfall, and spent hours every day trying to cut through it with the precision of the wind chakra coursing through her. Most of the time she sliced into her hands, which she bandaged anew, riddled with cuts and scrapes. She practiced her kata on the trees by the riverside. She picked fights with the other clan children just to have someone to spar with.

It felt like she was constantly tired, constantly hurting, and constantly not good enough.

She still had sealing duty every night, and her tired hands would work frantically through the explosives, pumping whatever little chakra she had left into making them. Every third day Great-Aunt Sakae would call her individually to check on her progress, and give her new assignments. Endless scrolls to read, beginner seals of various kinds to work through, knockout tags, flash seals, chakra suppressors, security barriers, privacy seals.

She was out as soon as her head hit the pillow, most days. Those were the good days. The bad days were when she laid awake thinking about Hayato, and she wished more than anything that she could hear his voice.

Then she'd light up a flash seal under her covers, and read silently in the dark about the wind and the many ways it could be shaped to kill someone, and she'd dream of invisible blades sharper than knives spinning in her hands.

* * *

Once, a week after her eighth birthday, there was a ceasefire, tenuous and brief. Hayato came back injured, his arm in a sling. Mito held him still in her grasp, looking him over sternly, and he pressed something small into her palms.

Mito undid the ribbon on the bundle, raising her eyebrows. "Hairpins?"

He grinned. "Happy birthday."

They were cheap, rusted metal, probably looted from a corpse or purchased in a small village store somewhere. She didn't ask. She just wore them.

"I have a gift for you, too."

She drew a seal on his palm, the ink dark and heavy against his skin. On her own palm, a perfectly matched mirror. "That is a locator seal. It pulls to its twin, like a magnet."

He stared at his hand in wonder, feeling the slight tug. Slowly, they pressed their palms flat against one other.

"Man, hairpins seem lame now..."

Mito laughed, bright and high as bells. "Just say thank you."

"Thanks."

"Brother, you know how... you know how I was training to be a guard? I'll be assigned to an outpost soon. They say it's boring and nothing happens, unless you get attacked, but I don't care," she smiled, almost shyly, hoping he'd be proud.

"You sound excited. I'm sure it'll be the best protected outpost in the country," he said gently, ruffling her hair.

"You bet. And I'll keep working on my wind ninjutsu, and if the fighting breaks out again, I'll be right there beside you," she promised, and he smiled like it wasn't a comfort. Small and scared, the lines around his mouth pinched in worry, like he'd aged decades in three years.

"Where did you learn this?"

"Huh?"

He gestured silently at their hands.

"Oh." She smiled. "I made it."

She was no longer an apprentice, who had to work under the supervision of a master, but a fully-fledged seal practiotioner. Though she had a long way to go before she became a master herself.

Still, it meant her independence. It meant the edge of respect in the eyes of the adults who passed her by in the hallways, nodding slightly. It meant seals of her own making.

"You're good at it, Mito. Great, actually. They say you're even better than Mother when she was your age. You could just... do this. You could make seals. You have something you're good for, you know? I'm good for nothing. Nothing but fighting."

"That's not true."

"You don't have to do it," Hayato told her. "I know you said you're doing it for me, but the last thing I ever want is to see you hurt. Put yourself first, all right?"

He was so kind, so impossibly kind. "You're worth it," she said simply, squeezing his hand, their seals pressed together.

"You are worth so much more."

"I said I'm coming with you," she hissed, whacking him on the forehead. "Shut up and let me love you, you moron!"

His mouth was left hanging wide open with surprise, before it melted into a laugh. They stretched themselves out side by side, staring at the sun.

"When the fighting is over, I'll be a merchant. I'll be a really rich merchant, with clothes made of silk and a fancy hat."

"You'd look so stupid," Mito giggled. Still, she offered, "And I can travel with you, and be your guard. I'll protect your caravan."

"Of course. And I won't have to lift a finger. I'll just look at the bandits and be like, leave, or my sister will beat you up. And they'll all just run away, because you're scary like that."

And they laughed and laughed.

* * *

The outpost Mito was assigned to was a modest wooden shack nestled discreetly somewhere along the shores of the Land of Whirlpool. It overlooked a towering cliff's edge, the waves breaking harshly against the rocks in an endless rush of noise whenever the tide rose. If anyone stumbled upon the building, it would seem perfectly reasonable to assume a small family of fishermen lived there. They even had the nets left hanging outside to dry in the sun, to help their cover, and because they did fish an awful lot. The rations the Clan sent them were very limited.

In the afternoons, sometimes Mito would race out to the top of the cliff, her eyes cast down on the water spraying violently below. She would look over the foaming waves crawling over the sandy shores ahead. She would stare at the bright sphere of the sun spilling over the ocean its burning reds and melting oranges, tracing striations of light across the rippling waves until the world turned dark.

Then, Mito would jump, and crash down, feeling the water rush up all around her, tossing and turning, and let out a breathless laugh, standing on top of the ocean. She'd laugh and laugh, and let the sea carry her floating body until it was time for her shift.

She kept night watch, usually, quiet and still. Theirs was primarily a trade outpost, too removed from the fighting to be used as a refuge for soldiers, usually. They stored a certain quantity of weapons, in any case. But mostly they stored seals in bulk. They were, after all, the most prized commodities of the Uzumaki clan: most other clans would trade all sorts of things to get their hands on the famous Uzumaki fuinjutsu. They had all sorts of seals, combat, storage, communication, security, medicinal, stealth - Mito could never, ever get tired of studying them, or attempting to reproduce them.

Out at the shore, the summer days were long and breezy, and she'd collect sea shells and stack them up in in intricate piles, in the intervals between sparring the other guards and practicing her wind jutsu against the waves and re-applying the security seals over the building.

Sometimes, though, sometimes there would be security breaches. That was how she liked to think of them, coldly, clinically, in her mind.

The first time Mito killed a man, she didn't see his face. It went by so quick that all she remembered, afterwards, was the glint of metal, the force of the wind bursting from her palms, and the spray of blood as the kunai sunk into his flesh. He fell forward on his face, his back to her in the dark, and she thought of that as a blessing.

She was wrong, because soon he came to her in her dreams wearing a thousand different faces, all twisted in terror, eyes wide and glassy. She'd never know what he'd really looked like. There would be a comfort in knowing, perhaps, or maybe she was wrong again, maybe she didn't know anything.

The main requisite of an outpost in times of war was relative secrecy of location. If an enemy found them and was able to escape confrontation alive, their outpost would be marked on a map and promptly looted, and therefore be rendered useless. As such, they had a kill on sight order on anyone who trespassed who wasn't expressly authorized.

Which was why, when Cousin Kaede rose lazily from her chair, tossing a scroll into Mito's lap, and said, "We're having guests," the girl startled and her hands flew to her kunai pouch instinctively.

"The wrong sort of guests?" Mito asked, narrowing her eyes.

To her surprise, Kaede waved her off, grinning. "Ah, no, read that. The Senju are coming to trade. They should be here in a few days."

"The Senju?" Mito frowned, the name ringing familiar. Senju Hashirama. Senju Tobirama. Senju. Konoha. She startled. "Aren't they from the Land of Fire?"

"Yes, but our trade relations are good. We need this to go smoothly, Mito. It's important."

"Why?" Usually, when they traded, the Uzumaki had the upper hand, given their fuinjutsu was so unique and valuable as a trade commodity. "What do they bring us?"

"Metal weapons, mostly. The Land of Fire has a lot of mines, and the Land of Whirlpool almost none. Sometimes seed or grain, if we're low. And medicine, herbs and pastes."

Mito nodded thoughtfully. "They sound powerful."

Kaede laughed. "They could probably crush us, but we're cut off in an island, and they have their hands full with the Uchiha. Besides, they like our sealmakers alive, we're more useful that way." She looked over at her sternly then, her eyes dead serious. "Be courteous to them, Mito. No, don't look at me like that, I get that you're all thoughtful and quiet sometimes, I get it, but be polite. Smile and be polite and act absolutely delighted at whatever they bring us for a few hours, all right?"

She blinked. "Sure. Do I have to speak formally, like they're nobles?"

"That would be for the best, actually. And wash up behind the ears, and shine all your weapons. We don't want to look sloppy."

Mito stared at her, snickering. "Do we need to dress in kimonos and perform a tea ceremony for them, too?"

"You're lucky we don't have any fine china, or I would make you," hissed Kaede, wagging a finger in her face.

Mito pretended to pour imaginary tea in an imaginary teacup, her face perfectly serious, then turned and ran off laughing before Kaede could swat her.

* * *

The Senju envoys arrived at the outpost on a wet, rainy autumn morning. They were three in all, two adults and a boy, very alert, shaking sand out of their shoes as they headed towards the shack. Shinobi,Mito decided, inspecting them. She could feel the solid weight of their chakra pressing down on her as they entered the outpost.

The three Uzumaki guards, standing in a row facing the door, bowed stiffly at the waist in perfect unison. The three Senju bowed back. Only the young Senju boy smiled, looking over the shelves with unabashed curiosity in his dark eyes.

"Welcome, Senju-san," the Uzumaki outpost's leader, Katsuhide, said with cautious politeness. He addressed the tall bearded man who stood in front of the other Senju, blowing out dark rings of smoke from an iron pipe clenched between his teeth. "I hope you've fared well on your journey here."

The man made a noncommittal sort of grunt around his pipe. His teeth were clenched so tightly the veins on his neck bulged out.

"We didn't run into any trouble, if that's what you're asking," said the man beside him, a scarred shinobi with a very substantial sword strapped across his back, speaking in a gruff tone that implied he didn't consider anything short of heavily armed assailants trouble. "Besides that damn godawful boat, that is."

The boy next to him piped up, grinning slyly, as if sharing a secret. "Bunta gets seasick."

"Shut up, Hashirama," hissed Bunta, his ears flushing in what looked suspiciously like embarrassment. He buried a hand roughly into the boy's bowl cut.

Hashirama slumped dramatically down, regret rolling off him in waves. "Sorry, cousin..."

Bunta didn't look convinced in the slightest, looking over at him with an evil eye.

There was an awkward silence, as the Senju looked to the Uzumaki to start negotiations, and the Uzumaki looked to the Senju leader to start negotiations, who sat there silently blowing black rings of smoke through his pipe.

"Well," Cousin Kaede ventured, lamely, "So how are you liking the Land of Whirlpools?"

"I'm not," said Bunta, shrugging. He glanced over at his squad leader, still engrossed in his pipe.

"I like the sea," Hashirama offered, smiling brightly. "I'd never seen it before." There was no trace of sarcasm Mito could detect. The absolute sincerity of him caught her off guard, as though he were completely oblivious to the painfully stilted climate in the room, or perhaps just powering through it. She couldn't tell.

Feeling somehow encouraged, Mito rose to grab a pile of storage scrolls from the shelves and laid them out on the table. She'd expected to receive a glare for her initiative, but both her colleagues looked relieved, and Katsuhide promptly started detailing the scrolls and their many properties and how valuable they were. Here and there he dropped a covert, thinly veiled reference to a special shipment of stealth seals, insinuating they'd need to make a great offer to even get a look at it.

Mito knew how these negotiations went. By now, she'd witnessed many of them. But nothing, nothing had prepared her for this.

Because when the time came for the Senju to disclose their own wares and make an offer, the smoking man, who had been completely silent up until that point, rose stiffly to his feet and stabbed his sword into Uzumaki Katsuhide's throat.

All hell broke loose in an instant.

Kaede screamed, lunging.

Dimly, Mito watched the sword pulled free from Katsuhide's body. He fell down on the ground in a spray of blood. Katsuhide was – she was going to – the blade was inches from her face –

Smothering a scream, Mito pumped chakra to her legs and vaulted backwards, one hand forming a half tiger seal, even as she reached into her kunai pouch with the other.

Kawarimi no Jutsu.

She threw herself wildly to her left, grabbing a hold of her chair and thrusting it forward in her place, shielding herself. The bloodied sword sliced through it, splintering the wood. She threw a kunai clumsily in a wide arc towards him, and leapt back to put some distance between them. Her hands ran through the seals, frantic.

Snake. Ram. Horse. Bird.

"Uncle Ryoma, what are you doing?" Hashirama yelled, grabbing a hold of the killer's shoulder, his eyes wide and angry. Next to him, Bunta's face looked ashen, even as he easily parried Kaede's sword strike. Something wasn't right. If their leader had attacked, why did the Senju look so shocked -

The pipe fell limply from Ryoma's lips as he froze.

Then his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening, and he swung the blade down towards the boy's chest with a forceful jerk. Hashirama barely sidestepped it, a look of shock coming over his features, as if unable to believe his own uncle had tried to kill him.

Mito slapped her hands together with a crack.

Fuuton: Reppushou.

Wind rushed out from between her palms with a hiss, hitting Ryoma squarely on the side. The kunai she'd thrown sailed towards him with the full force of the gale behind it, embedding itself into his shoulder with a meaty thunk.

He stumbled over his feet, clawing at his own face, his head clutched in his hands, screaming, "stop it – stop it –" between ragged breaths.

Then Hashirama kicked him in the chest, tackling him to the ground. "What is wrong with you!"

"There's someone else out there," Bunta snarled suddenly, eyes wide with realization. "They had him under their control-"

Ryoma slumped on the floor like a puppet whose strings had been torn.

Mito clenched her jaw tightly, her eyes darting around the room. As her hands twisted into a seal, the faint lines inscribed all over the walls lit up. She glanced over them frantically, her stomach dropping at the sight of the twisted, marred ink. "The security seals have been tampered with. We've been breached."

Cousin Kaede lowered her sword away from Bunta's, letting out a curse.

Then the shadows rose up and attacked.

* * *

Author's Note: Cliffhanger because I'm evil. Also, HASHIRAMA IS HEEEERE. WOO. I mean, they didn't even get to talk yet... but whatever, get hype. This is kind of a set up chapter, meant to cover some of Mito's childhood before the plot picks up.

Answering reviews~ (first of all thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed or favorited, you're the best)

Guest 1: Thank you! I love Mito too, I'm actually going on a spree of reading whatever Mito fics I can get my hands on :D

Arcane Charmcaster: Yes, I have some wicked ideas for seals, like a fireproof seal to block katon or a long distance communication seal that functions kind of like an answering machine. Mito is (still) learning, so there will be a lot of trial and error, but she can already make her own (simple) ones and will only improve with time. If you have any ideas for seals, feel free to suggest!

gruntsbreeder: Thank you!

Shion Lee: Thanks, I will :)

Guest 2: Thank you, I'm so very glad you like it! You got a little bit of your action scene this chapter, and there will be even more action on the next one as the Uzumaki-Senju actually engage the assassin (which, ohhh boy). And no worries, all aboard the action girl Mito train! Just wait until she learns chakra chains ;)

Guest 3: She is still only around nine on this one, but she's already kicking butt, so let's go!


	3. Chapter 2

chapter two

* * *

In a dark blur, shadows swelled along the walls, stretching out from the corners as they snaked across the floorboards. A tendril reached for her feet with grasping claws. Mito leapt narrowly over it as it coiled in a wide loop.

Around her, Kaede fled to the ceiling, Hashirama dodged nimbly, and Bunta charged straight at the enemy with his sword drawn. The blade went clean through the stranger, a tall shinobi with a dark ponytail and a spindly build, who cried out in surprise and crumbled into a heap of dirt. An earth clone.

Mito twisted in mid-air as a shuriken grazed the top of her shoulder. Three others spun past inches away from her face. A shadow reached out behind her, fast and threatening. She threw herself sideways, skidding as she landed.

She looked around wildly to where the projectiles had come from. There were only shadows stretching themselves along the walls. She couldn't sense the enemy at all. Damn it.

Cousin Kaede dropped from the ceiling suddenly, head first down on the floor, unconscious. Mito startled. There had been no screams, no sounds of a struggle. There wasn't even any blood. Was Kaede – she hoped not. She leapt towards her urgently, heart in her throat.

Another barrage of shuriken whizzed by in a dark blur. As a tendril of shadow twisted around her right side from behind, Mito had no choice but to spring to the left. Something caught her arm, slicing sharply into her skin – ninja wire, so thin it was almost invisible, attached to the shuriken. She withdrew a kunai from her pouch with her free hand and slashed at it.

Blood trickled down from her elbow to her wrist as she stumbled slightly, catching herself, one knee braced against the floor. A shadow rushed out, splitting into two, surrounding her. Mito pushed herself up, springing to her feet.

Darkness pooled around her ankles, sending cold shivers down her spine.

A hand clenched around her throat from behind, forcing her down to her knees.

The room dimmed around her, shadows eating away at the edges of her vision. A steel grip squeezed her neck tightly. Mito struggled, her nails clawing desperately at the cold fingers holding her throat, her screams smothered. She'd had a kunai in her hand. Her nails scratched uselessly, the painful grip rigid and unbending as steel. Where was her kunai? Her hands trembled. Everything was dark, faded, spiraling into a blackening void – she'd had a kunai in her hand. She'd sliced the wire with it.

The thought cut across her mind with a stark clarity. There was a feeling of wrongness, a soft flicker along the edges of her vision. _This isn't real,_ Mito thought suddenly. She held her palms together, feeling the weight of the kunai clutched in her right hand. Her chakra roiled violently.

All around her shadows dimmed and shrunk away. The grip on her throat slackened as the darkness unraveled. She glimpsed the enemy, then, on the far side of the room. He crouched low, hands locked into a rat handseal.

For a dark, horrible moment, their gazes met across the room, killing intent hanging in the air.

Mito pushed her hands together in a bird handseal. Her chest rose, tight with compressed chakra. The wind burned in her throat. She breathed out bullets across the room. Two quick shots crashed solidly into the wall as her target leapt out of the way, breaking his cover.

Hashirama cut him off, slamming a forward kick into his chest. The enemy staggered back. He blocked the following punch to the face with his forearms, leg kicking out in a sweep. Hashirama leapt easily over it, throwing his weight behind a left hook as he came down hard. The Nara ducked out of the way and slapped his hands on the ground.

A circular dome of hardened earth rose up, encasing him safely in its walls. The shadow cast by the dome darted out, lunging menacingly, and Hashirama somersaulted out of reach. Charging wildly, Bunta slashed forward with his sword in repeated wide sweeps, slicing the dome apart as the earth crumbled into clumps of dirt sent flying in the air.

There was no one inside.

The Nara's illusion had realigned itself, folding over the walls, as he vanished seamlessly into the growing shadows that consumed the room, stretching everywhere.

Mito narrowed her eyes in frustration. "He's a genjutsu type," she warned the others, scowling. "Only one of the shadows is ninjutsu. The others are all just illusions."

"Coward," snarled Bunta, "Come on out and face me, Nara!"

Her scowl deepened as she considered the implications. Their enemy preyed on fear and caution, constructing threats out of smoke and mirrors, making them think he had shadows everywhere, as they struggled to dodge, wearing themselves out. When finally, exhausted, their feet stumbled over a shadow, real or illusionary, they believed they were caught.

If his victims _thought_ they'd been caught by a real shadow, they wouldn't even think to look for a genjutsu. They'd panic at their mistake, accepting his illusion as their reality, and he'd sink his claws deeper into their minds.

Dark tendrils nipped at her heels, converging in a web towards her. Mito leapt up in the air and twisted, jumping up the wall, racing away from the shadows. He was a coward, she thought, gritting her teeth hard, but he was a good ninja. It didn't matter that they knew most of the shadows were illusions, they didn't know which, and without knowing, they couldn't afford not to dodge.

She bounced off the wall, propelling herself across the room, ducking to let a flurry of shuriken sail over her head. Real or fake? He was wearing them down, exhausting them, and they were no closer to finding out where he was – if only she hadn't lost him, she thought with a stab of humiliation. Mito called up her chakra, trying to dispel the illusion, but she didn't know where the genjutsu ended and reality began, she didn't know _what_ was real, and the shadows lashed out at her from behind, shooting her concentration to hell.

"Hey," yelled Hashirama suddenly, standing next to the shelves. "Where do you keep the flash tags, Uzumaki?"

Mito blinked, eyes widening in realization. "Second shelf from the ground up."

Hashirama slapped a tag to the ground, chakra bursting from his palm. For a single timeless moment, every shadow melted away as the room was enveloped in a sudden searing light.

Except for the illusions, which stood out stark and unblinking, pitch black against the brightness. There was a burst of chakra as all three of them released the genjutsu, baring their teeth in triumph.

Then Bunta _moved_ , his sword screaming through the air. The Nara, exposed, was halfway through his handseals, attempting to stitch back together the pieces of his illusion. The tall blade sliced him deeply on the shoulder as he lunged sideways, attempting to flee towards the door.

Mito silently blocked his path, her face stony.

"Tch. You're a troublesome bunch," the Nara shinobi hissed, holding up a kunai to his own throat. His free hand was locked into half a rat seal. "Kagemane complete."

 _What?_ Mito froze, her gaze snapping down to the ground in horror. She let out a sigh of relief as she saw her feet were clear. She'd been very careful to watch her shadow. Her eyes cut to Hashirama, who stood in a patch of sunlight, nonplussed, and Bunta, who was moving perfectly freely.

Was this some sort of bluff? Another illusion? Her eyes narrowed. She –

Suddenly Hashirama's face was awash with a slow dawning horror. Mito followed his line of sight warily, and froze. Her stomach plummeted.

Behind them, the limp bodies of Senju Ryoma and Uzumaki Kaede jerked themselves upright on their feet. Their right arms lifted and bent, holding up swords to their throats. Their eyes were shut, faces perfectly still, expressionless as puppets.

A thin, pinched smile spread darkly over the Nara's face, crinkling with malice at the edges. "Stand aside now," he crooned, black eyes narrowed to deadly slits. "You'll let me walk right out of that door. You won't follow me. If you do... I'll kill them."

Mito reeled as if she'd been struck. Kaede – _Kaede_ – she should have been more careful – she should have been watching out for her – she'd forgotten – how could she have been so _selfish, so careless._ She took a tiny step away from the door, resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands.

Bunta met his gaze evenly and shrugged. "So kill them," he said, plainly, thrusting his sword.

The Nara's smile turned to a snarl. He pushed his kunai down against his throat with a growl, a thin trickle of blood streaming down to his collarbone, growing as the edge dug in, slicing close to the artery. He blinked, gaze unfocused. For a moment, he faltered. His hand shook.

Bunta's sword impaled him through the eye, emerging painted crimson on the other side of his skull with a broken, wet noise.

"That's why the battlefield is no place for cowards," he said coolly, pulling his sword from the corpse with a flat look of disdain. "Ninja should have no attachment to their lives."

Mito couldn't think of anything to say. Her mind was utterly blank. She rushed to Kaede's side, kneeling beside her prone body as she inspected the cut on her neck, feeling for her pulse. _Alive._ She felt weak on her knees from relief. If Nara had pushed a little deeper – she didn't want to think about it. Katsuhide was already… it had happened so fast, so senselessly.

They would have to seal the body, and take it back to the compound, explain the circumstances to his family. His wife, his son. She felt exhausted, suddenly. She wanted nothing more than to bury her head in her knees, but the Senju were still there, and she was the only Uzumaki guard left standing. She couldn't afford to show weakness, she thought, looking over at them out of the corner of her eye.

Hashirama was standing stiffly, his eyes hooded. "You didn't know he'd stop," he said suddenly, outrage dripping from his tone.

"And?"

"They would have _died,_ " the boy snapped.

Bunta did not turn to look at him. He stood stiffly, wiping the blood off his sword with the hem of his haori in slow, mechanical motions. "So it is."

Mito watched them warily.

"So it is? How can you say that? The Uzumaki are our allies, they shouldn't lose shinobi by our hand. And Uncle Ryoma, you would rather see his torn throat open–"

"Then he would have died, honorably, to take down an enemy of his clan, and been proud of it," snarled Bunta. He looked livid, gnashing his teeth with every word. "As would I. As should you. Have you learned nothing? A shinobi who hesitates to cut down an enemy because he's afraid to lose his life or his comrades' is a disgrace to his clan. You have always been naive, Hashirama. Do you propose we surrender the battle every time one of our soldiers is threatened? Instead of honoring their sacrifice and avenging them proudly?"

"I want us to act like the lives of our clansmen have more value than our pride," Hashirama argued hotly, raising his chin in defiance.

This wasn't her business, Mito told herself. It wasn't her place to meddle.

"We are shinobi," Bunta seethed. "Our pride is fighting, so the Senju will prosper. It is taking lives, before we give ours. It is killing more than we are killed. It is why we still stand today, it's why we have _survived_ the wars."

"So we are born to kill and be killed, and we shouldn't be proud of anything else? Not even of protecting those who fight beside us?"

"You are soft, boy," said Bunta, almost sadly, with a tone of supreme pity, as he leaned down to meet Hashirama's eyes. "I sincerely hope you will grow out of it one day. It will fall to you to lead us after your father, and you will march us into war. I pray you do not balk when the enemy raises his sword against your brother, your son, your cousin, or your friend, because we all march to kill and die, and no one person is more important than the Clan. You'll disgrace us all by acting so cowardly."

Mito flinched, kneeling next to the futon she had carried Kaede onto. Hayato's face rose in her mind, unbidden. She felt a rush of blood in her ears. There was nothing she wouldn't do to save him.

"I don't think it's cowardice," she cut in, surprising herself, "to stay your sword when the enemy threatens someone precious to you." She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

There was a stilted silence, as if they didn't expect her to speak up. Mito didn't expect herself to speak up. Still, she swallowed, and went back to her task.

Clumsily, her hands wrapped bandages around Kaede's neck, fumbling around in her search for the proper stabilizing seal to stanch the blood loss. She asked herself how far would she have gone to save her. Would she have let the Nara go? She knew she would have. Was it worth it? Would she have regretted it? He could have come back with reinforcements and killed them all. But at the time, rejecting his offer hadn't seemed like an option. She couldn't let her die. Was that weakness?

Bunta gave a snort of exasperated disgust. He glared from her to Hashirama as though it annoyed him to be in the same room as them. "You airheaded little brats," he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I'm going to scout the perimeter for threats. Nara rarely move alone."

Mito grabbed a scroll from the shelf, ripped it into two and tossed half out at him. "If you run into trouble, activate this, and we'll know."

"Fat lot of help you'd be," he sneered, but took it. Then he swept out of the shack, sheathing his sword elegantly.

An awkward silence fell over them. Mito glanced uncertainly at Hashirama, who stared pensively at her. Neither of them were forthcoming. With a sigh, she made her way over to Ryoma. She knelt on one side of him, eyeing him anxiously as she pressed a cloth to his throat. He had the same nasty cut on the neck as Kaede, plus he had taken Mito's kunai to the shoulder earlier. That scared her.

To her surprise, Hashirama crouched down next to her. "Sorry about Bunta," he offered.

Mito shrugged. "It's fine."

She worked quietly dressing the wound on Ryoma's neck. Then she looked uncertainly at the kunai still embedded in his shoulder, pressing a cloth around it. "I'm not very good at this," she confessed, her voice hushed. "I'm afraid I might make it worse if I take it out."

"Let me."

Mito blinked. "You're a medic?"

"Not exactly," Hashirama rubbed the back of his neck, "I've learned what I could, but I was... encouraged to focus on other things."

Mito hummed her understanding. She watched him work, the slow, steady efficiency of his movements, self-assured but careful. When he finished, she said, "I'll have to attend more lessons when I get home. You have a way with it."

He smiled brightly at her. It took her aback, the honesty of that smile, without a hint of smugness.

"What made you want to start?"

"Eh?"

"Healing."

"Oh," he said, eyes lost in remembrance. His smile dimmed. "Nothing grand. I wanted to patch up my brothers after missions."

There was a barely buried pain in his voice, and Mito thought better of asking. She glanced at the half of the warning seal Bunta had left behind, fidgeting.

Silence fell between them.

She smoothed out the warning seal, staring at it. "Do you think he'll run into trouble?" She felt depleted and in no condition to fight. Her stomach was a hard knot of fear. "Do you think... that Nara... there's others nearby...?"

"Maybe." He looked worried. "The Nara clan is a vessel to the Akimichi, of sorts. They're mostly independent, but they've been known to act together."

"And they don't like the Senju." It wasn't a question.

Hashirama grimaced. "It's not so much they don't like us, it's more that they see the Senju and the Uchiha weakening each other as an opportunity."

"Is it?"

"We're still stronger," he said, halfway between defensive and casual, flashing a confident smile.

"I don't doubt that," Mito told him. She rose, grabbing a storage scroll on her path to Katsuhide's corpse. "What do you think his mission was? Assassinate us, and frame you? Make us kill each other? Destroy our trade relations?"

"Probably wanted to steal some of your seals, too," he suggested, tiredly.

Mito felt a slow anger coiling in her chest as she stared into Katsuhide's wide, glassy eyes. He'd died so senselessly. "I should have noticed something was off. I... I was too busy trying to act polite."

Hashirama looked warily at her, with something like pity, or empathy, or regret. "We know Uncle Ryoma better than you do. We should have noticed something was off."

"I'm not blaming you," she said, quickly, because there was no point. Her hands jerked as she sealed her comrade up, feeling the weight of the scroll in her hands. "I just wish he could have been saved."

Hashirama nodded. He moved over to stand in front of her, holding her gaze with his own searchingly. "Did you mean it? What you said earlier."

He said it as if it mattered. As if her opinion was important, despite having known each other less than a day. It discomfited her.

She looked away. "About holding back to protect others? I mean it. I don't think it's cowardly. It's courageous. You make the choice you think you can live with, even if it might be wrong."

"Wrong?" He slumped over dramatically, a ghastly wave of black misery pouring off him. "I can't afford to be wrong..."

Mito blinked. "Eh? Stop looking so sad all of a sudden!" She resisted the urge to whack him on the head, like she would Hayato.

Hashirama mumbled, desolate. "How am I to lead someday... when I don't know what's right..."

Mito scowled. "There's no line in the sand that makes sacrifices right or wrong. It all comes down to how much you care. As a leader, you should care the most of all."

Hashirama looked up at her suddenly, his face sharp and clear. He would lead a whole village one day, she knew. A village strung together with hopes and trees. He got to his feet nimbly, brightening as quickly as he'd sulked. He wasn't quite smiling, but his eyes were thoughtful and kind. "Say, what's your name? Let me take a look at your arm."

She blinked, looking down at said arm. He was referring to the cut where the ninja wire had scratched her, she realized belatedly. It wasn't very deep at all.

His almost smile bloomed into a winning grin. "I'm Hashirama."

She couldn't help but smile back, just slightly. "I know."

"What about you? Let me look at your wound."

"It's barely a wound," she said, backing away hastily. He'd fought the Nara at much closer quarters than she had, and he wasn't even injured. She'd tripped over some wire and almost got caught in a genjutsu. "I'm fine."

He had a stubborn glint in his eye. "Really. Are you going to make me hold you down to treat your arm?"

"No," Mito glared, offended. "As if you could hold me down." He probably could, but she wasn't about to admit it.

To her surprise, a wide grin broke across his face. "You remind me of my cousin," he said, "Toka."

"What is she like?"

"Terrifying," he burst out laughing, "She does evil genjutsu pranks all the time, and she used to stick frogs down the back of my shirt."

"I like Toka," Mito said, lips quirking faintly.

"I'll tell her you said that. But you should give me a name to call you, when I'm telling stories back home."

She relented, holding out her arm with a grin. "Uzumaki Mito."

* * *

Author's Note: Woo. So this chapter covered a fair bit. In case the whole Nara assassination attempt still doesn't fully make sense (beyond the quick reasons they mentioned), more will be explained about it later, don't worry!

I made a choice this chapter to not have Hashirama use mokuton _yet._ The reason for that is that based off canon, he shows no signs of it when he first meets Madara. They also show them fighting each other growing up. On the first scene where they look like kids Hashirama doesn't use it, then on the next scene where they look like young teens (and all the others) he uses it.

So he'll definitely awaken it as he grows up, don't worry. I'm not sure if I should include a Grand Mokuton Awakening Scene in the fic or just have it happen in a timeskip. What would you guys prefer?

Thanks to everyone who followed, favorited or reviewed!

Shion Lee: Aww, thank you. She tries! :)

rickrossed: You're very welcome! :)

The-handprint-onthe-window: Here you go, and this one didn't even end on a cliffhanger (I'm not all evil, I promise)!

Guest: Thank you so much. Yeah, Ino-Shika-Cho didn't get the peace and love and Konoha memo yet. The road to a successful village has some obstacles...

Arcane charmcaster: Omg, your ideas are so cool! I love them, thank you. She'll definitely be using the third one soon! The more OP ones would have to wait until she powers up and I'd have to work out some limitations, but I'll remember the ideas, I promise. Thanks for the follow too :)

MoonlightPale: Thank you! Yeah, she's got more of an interest in medical ninjutsu now, thanks to Hashirama himself :)


	4. Chapter 3

chapter three

* * *

Kaede woke shortly before sundown, eyes blinking blearily open with a wince. Her gaze sharpened as it searched the room, cutting to the empty spot where Katsuhide's corpse had fallen. Mito, seated at her bedside, passed her a glass of lukewarm water and watched her guardedly.

Her cousin pushed the cup away. "Where is he...?"

"Sealed," Mito muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. In her lap, a scroll laid unfurled, the ink still fresh.

Kaede's breath caught. "I don't mean him," she said, in an irritated voice, rubbing her temples, "The Senju."

"Which one?"

She received a flat, unimpressed look for an answer.

"Ryoma-san woke up earlier," Mito said carefully, "I told him to stay in bed, but he said he was fine and went out to find Bunta-san and Hashirama. I guess they'll stay here tonight, but they'll journey back tomorrow."

Kaede's hands clenched around her blankets as she heaved herself up. "So they're... around? Heaven knows where? Doing heaven knows what?"

"It's not like I can supervise them," Mito returned wearily, "I felt I should stay with you. And... I don't have the authority to keep them from leaving the outpost... that might make things... uncomfortable."

"Ah, yes, but you have the authority to offer them our _hospitality_ for the night, apparently," Kaede said, pursing her lips, "Because that's just exceedingly _comfortable._ "

"It's safer if we're all in one spot," Mito pointed out.

"Is it?" Her cousin countered, in a tone dripping with skepticism.

"Our alliance isn't broken," Mito reasoned, sighing heavily. "They helped us kill the Nara. If... if they weren't on our side, we'd be dead. Listen, I won't be getting any sleep tonight either. If you want to pull rank on me, you can. Go ahead and tell them they can camp outside. But... there will be a fallout. And we'd have to explain it to Ashina-sama, on top of this whole mess."

Kaede kept quiet, shoulders tense, burning a hole into the wall with her gaze. "Did you re-do the security seals?"

Mito nodded. "I changed up the design a bit."

"Did any of the Senju watch you do it?"

"What? No. Of course not," she frowned. "You really don't trust them."

She was met with a cold, smothering silence as the woman turned away. Mito gave a small sigh of frustration.

"I know it was... shocking, what Ryoma-san did to Katsuhide. But he wasn't himself. The Senju were on our side as soon as we figured out we were being invaded. Hashirama - Hashirama worried for you life, you know. He said our clan shouldn't lose shinobi by their hand. He seemed sincere."

"I don't think they were behind _this_ mess, or even foresaw it," Kaede twitched her shoulder irritably. "They stood to gain nothing from it. But think, Mito. How would the Nara know how to break Uzumaki fuinjutsu seals?"

Her brain screeched to a halt. "It isn't possible... unless he knows our fuinjutsu style... and knows the components making up the seals that were used."

Kaede smiled grimly. "The only clan in Fire Country we share advanced seals with is the Senju."

"You think they've betrayed our sealing style to the Nara?" Mito clasped her hands over her head, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. "And then the Nara used that knowledge to double cross them, and set up this trap? It is... possible," she acknowledged haltingly. She hated how likely it seemed.

The Senju... Konoha... she'd wanted to trust them, for the sake of the future. But then, Uzushiogakure had trusted Konoha, in a tale she'd read long ago. And they had perished, and Konoha hadn't lifted a finger in their aid. Alliances, she acknowledged with a sudden weight in her stomach, only got someone so far. Only when they were mutually beneficial. If one side started requiring too much aid, started becoming a burden -

She wrung her hands, thinking of Hashirama's beaming grin. Alliances weren't friendships, and perhaps she'd been a fool to blur the line between them.

"But what can we do? How can we know? It is not as if we can interrogate them."

"There's more than one kind of interrogation," Kaede muttered, lips curled into a wry smile. "Sometimes it's best if one doesn't know they are being interrogated at all."

Mito eyed her warily. "We are going to dance around the subject... and wait for them to slip up? Isn't it the wrong time to do this? With things so raw? Shouldn't we let Ashina-sama handle it?"

"This is the best time to do it, with things so raw," Kaede corrected absently, "They are more likely to slip up. If we wait for Ashina-sama, they will talk guardedly through diplomatic missives and nothing will ever come from it at all."

Mito nodded. "I'll trust you with it. Do we wait for their return?"

"I'll wait. Which one do you think would be best?"

"Ryoma-san is close to Senju leadership, he probably knows the most." She shook her head. "He didn't begrudge me the kunai to the shoulder at all. But I don't know if he'll give away any information on his clan... he's old and experienced."

Kaede gritted her teeth in a strained grin. "We'll see."

"Will you be alright around him... after Katsuhide?"

"I can control myself," Kaede said, swallowing. "What about the others?"

"Bunta-san is... cold. He has a temper, though. He might talk if you provoke him enough."

"And the boy?"

She paused, unsure what to volunteer about Hashirama. She didn't quite know what to make of him. At times he was almost overwhelmingly boisterous, dissolving into goofy, lopsided grins, but then, suddenly he'd turn serious and earnest, sharp as a blade.

"Hashirama is friendly," Mito said, at length.

"You've developed a rapport with him?"

"I... we talked briefly. But I wouldn't say that," she muttered, staring out the window at the darkening sky. She'd thought they had, but then, that was all Hashirama, wasn't it? He made himself so easy to like. She doubted she'd come across half as personable, from his point of view.

"You should question him, then. You're closer in age. Perhaps he'll be more comfortable talking to you."

Mito, who had all the manipulation skills of a particularly lifeless house plant, scowled uncertainly. "I'm no good at this sort of work."

"Well, it's about time you learn, little cousin," Kaede leveled her with a flat stare, sighing, "It's all part of being a kunoichi."

"I don't think I can ask him."

"You don't have to ask him. Bring up the Nara. See if he squirms."

Somehow, Mito couldn't imagine Hashirama squirming. He had a headstrong streak to him, an oddly carefree attitude born from a willingness to say what he thought was right.

Still, the hard look in Kaede's eyes told her she'd been given a mission. She could only nod.

* * *

She found him by the seaside. Slow waves crawled over the sand in a rush of foam, the gentle murmur of the tide lost in the wind. Flocks of seagulls flitted by overhead, dark specks on the burning horizon. The sun inched down slowly towards the ocean, casting golden ripples across the deep blue.

Mito smiled, despite herself, gingerly taking off her sandals to curl her toes into the sand. Hashirama hunched over as he walked along the shore, the wind whipping violently at his clothes, his bright, distant silhouette small.

He stooped down, picking up something in his hand, and stared out into nothing for a while. Inexplicably, she felt as though he might vanish into the sea.

"Hey!" Mito called out from a distance, her voice carrying. She watched him stiffen, then turn around slowly, his arm raised in a friendly wave. "Hashirama-san."

"Mito," he grinned, trudging towards her with heavy pockets clinking as he ran. "No need to be formal."

"Are you collecting seashells?"

"Hmm," he agreed brightly, turning out his pocket to thrust out shells cupped in his palm. "Would you look at these!"

"These are mussels," she said, "They're very common around here."

"Truly? I suppose they're a delicacy of your country," he pinched a shell between his fingers, squinting at it.

She shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly. How was she supposed to bring up Nara? "Have you really never seen a mussel before? They're not that impressive."

"I've never taken a walk by the sea before. Back home, there's only the river, and by the shore you have all these small stones instead of shells," he stilled suddenly, fists clenching around a handful of mussels and clams, "You'd just skip them... to the other side." He glanced down at the shells distantly, shoulders drooping. "I think I like these."

"Take a few home, then," Mito said, picking up a half buried shell and tossing it at his head. He caught it effortlessly, even as he stared off into the distance, despondent.

There he was, going into one of his moods again.

"So what does the Land of Fire have that we don't?" She asked curiously, elbowing him in the ribs. "Some plants?"

He blinked. "Well, there's many sorts of plants."

"Do you have apples? We don't."

"You're kidding," Hashirama shot her a scandalized look. "You don't have apples? Truly?"

"It's just apples," she muttered.

"What about oranges?"

"Yes."

"Grapes?"

"No."

"No grapes?" He stared at her in open-mouthed horror, catching her wrist. "Mito, quickly, let me smuggle you into my boat! I'll rescue you from the land of no grapes!"

"Oh, thank you, my lord," she said, rolling her eyes, as he pretended to drag her. "How many grapes will I be fed for my troubles?"

"I'll feed you mussels only," he offered, brightly.

She snorted, wrenching her arm away, and kicked up sand at him. He kicked back up at her, then led her on a merry chase along the shore line, flinging fistfuls of sand at each other. To her chagrin, she never did manage to get him, as he danced nimbly out of the way, though she got pelted so many times.

"Stand still so I can hit you," Mito grumbled, shaking sand out of her hair. Hashirama grinned unrepentantly.

She scowled, crossing her arms. She was supposed to be asking him about the Nara and Uzumaki seals. How did she get drawn into such a nonsensical conversation? She couldn't go back to Kaede empty handed. "Listen, Hashira - "

"Can you water walk?"

"...what?"

He smiled apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's okay if you can't, sorry."

"Of course I can water walk," Mito glared indignantly, "What do you take me for?"

"Great," Hashirama said, vanishing out of thin air. Over his shoulder, he called, from the sea, "Race you to that rock over there!"

Mito gaped after him. "Wait - wait up," she sputtered. And then they were dashing over the waves in leaps and bounds, Hashirama hooting as he shot ahead of her, kicking up sea foam, as the first stars of the falling night glittered over them. Watching him pick up speed, she scowled thunderously, pushing her legs harder.

"Keep up," Hashirama shouted, laughing hard.

"Shut it," she yelled, weaving her fingers behind her back. She ran through the handseals awkwardly, clapping her hands. A sharp gale of wind burst out behind her, propelling her forwards in a rush, her feet swept off the water as she flew -

 _oh no_ , she thought, shrieking -

\- before she crashed bodily into Hashirama's back, sending them both tumbling down into the sea on top of one another. "Oof."

He wouldn't stop laughing, even as they picked themselves up, soaked through to the bone. "That was - hahahahaha! - you - hahahaha - nice jutsu!"

She stammered, her cheeks very red. "You - you had a headstart - I thought it would work, all right!"

Hashirama settled into a straight face with difficulty, a smile threatening the corners of his mouth. "It was a good idea, just -" he burst into cackles, "What will you call it? Oh! I got it. Vortex Gale Propeller Mega Impulse Secret Race Jutsu!"

Mito scowled. "That's the stupidest name I've ever heard," she muttered crossly. "It's just a reverse gale palm."

"You're no fun!"

She gave a weary sigh, staring up at the sky. "We should go back," Mito mumbled, "It's almost dark."

There was a cold splash of saltwater against her side.

"Hey!" She growled, rounding on him. "What was that for?"

"You're too serious," Hashirama grinned.

Her shoulders sagged. "I'm worried," she admitted, darkly.

Mirth vanished from his eyes, as he peered at her with a sudden sharpness. "About?"

She held her breath, avoiding his gaze. He waited, wordlessly, brow furrowed. Mito scratched her nose nervously.

"Listen," she swallowed. "Nara breached our seals. He couldn't have broken them without knowing our sealing style, or the combination of seals."

"You think he has a contact on the inside." He nodded thoughtfully. "A spy."

Mito's lips twisted into a thin, wary smile. "Do you know why it's almost impossible for spies to get to our seals? Uzumaki security clearances are keyed to our chakra signatures. Even if a spy managed to infiltrate our compound, they wouldn't be able to break into any of our archives, because their chakra signature would be rejected when they touched the door."

"So someone leaked them?" Hashirama wondered.

She paused, sighing. "There's always the possibility of a traitor, but leaking sealing knowledge without the Clan head's permission is punishable by death, and not many would take that risk - especially because we have our pride, too, and seals are at the root of it."

The implication was clear - if the betrayal hadn't come from within the Uzumaki, it must have come from their allies - but she didn't voice it. She let it hang unspoken in the air between them, heavy and sinister, as she observed him out of the corner of her eye.

Hashirama didn't seem offended, or even nervous. He looked, if anything, thoughtful, rolling his shoulders as he began walking back towards the beach.

"I'm just worried," Mito found herself saying again, suddenly, before she could help it. "They know our outpost locations, and they know how to break some of our seals. It's..." A shudder ran down her spine. In a way, she was lucky to be alive.

"Hmm," said Hashirama, fiddling with the shells in his pockets. "I am more prone to thinking the Nara had a contact of sorts within your clan or mine." He hesitated, blowing a sigh, and squared his shoulders. His voice rung resolute as he made up his mind. "Bunta found a letter on his corpse."

"A letter?" Mito's eyes widened. Why hadn't she been told anything about this? But then, the implication was all too clear - the Senju did not fully trust the Uzumaki either, allies though they might be.

She ought to have inspected the Nara's body herself, but she'd been all too eager to rush to Kaede's side, and Bunta had discreetly searched the corpse when she wasn't aware. She felt her stomach churn. Uneasily, she asked, "What did the letter say?"

Clearing his throat, Hashirama recited with dramatic flair, "As anthurium blooms over yonder meadow, pluck the tansies by the trees, and I shall send you a bouquet of yellow poppies."

She blinked once, twice, and stood bewildered.

"It's a coded message," Hashirama observed.

She smacked her palm flat on her forehead. "Yes. I'm aware."

His eyes sparkled with amusement, the corners of his mouth twitching faintly. "You don't know?"

"Know what?" She frowned. "Hashirama..."

"Bunta had no clue either," he snickered. Mito tapped her foot impatiently.

With a sly smile, he carried on, "Well, anthuriums are a flower traditionally symbolyzing hospitality, and yellow poppies stand for wealth or success, usually. Tansies," he frowned, "tansies mean war."

Mito stared blankly. "How... how do you know all of that?"

"Hanakotoba is a noble ancient art!" Hashirama argued, crossing his arms defensively. Then he slumped over in dismay. "Why does everyone look at me like that... First Tobi... now you too..."

"Sorry, sorry," she said, patting his shoulder. "Please translate for me."

"As anthuriums bloom - someone knew your clan would be offering mine hospitality. Pluck tansies - they ordered him to sow conflict. Send you yellow poppies - they promised success or money," he explained easily.

"So what you're saying is... there's a spy," Mito surmised, rubbing her temples. "I see." It sounded reasonable enough, and she wanted to believe in him, for her clan's sake.

But there was also the distinct possibility he was feeding her the whole story about the message, merely to cover up his clan leaking their seals. She couldn't blindly take him at his word, and she felt a lump rise in her throat, inexplicably.

Hashirama was watching her, out of the corner of his glittering, dark eyes.

She caught his gaze, quirking him a guarded smile. "I'll look into it," was all she could promise.

"Of course," he nodded calmly, not seeming offended at the suspicions that he must have seen on her face.

He could be oddly perceptive sometimes.

They walked back to the beach somberly, dead silent, each lost in their own thoughts. A cloud of unease loomed over them, unseen but palpable. As they climbed over the sand towards the outpost, Hashirama spoke up with a sudden weight in his voice.

"A friend," he began quietly. "A friend once told me that it was impossible to have a true alliance, because there was no way to show one another your guts."

Mito regarded him sharply. "Do you think that?"

"I don't want it to be true," he said, slumping over in a cloud of despair. "That's why..."

"That's why you told me the things you did," she concluded. "For your clan and my clan to have a true alliance, huh... that's a worthy goal. Thanks, Hashirama."

He sighed faintly as he dragged his feet onwards.

"Your friend who said this," Mito muttered, thinking of a man with spinning red eyes, "must have been very saddened by a reality like that. I hope you can prove him wrong."

"I will," he choked out, forcing a grin. "This friend I have... though I suppose if you asked him, he'd say I _had_ a friend. If he even admitted to it at all." His eyes dimmed.

"Hmm. Did you betray him?"

"What? No," Hashirama recoiled, looking disgusted at the very thought.

"Were you honest with each other?"

"Yes." His mouth quirked up sadly. "We were. To the last."

"You showed each other your guts. Then why would he say you're not friends?"

"There are... circumstances beyond us," he answered weakly, looking down at his feet. He didn't elaborate.

"Then you just have to wait for the circumstances to change," Mito said, shrugging. "Or change them yourself."

"That's what I'll do," Hashirama nodded firmly. Then, quieter, to himself, in a whispered vow: "That's what I'll do."

* * *

Author's Notes: Thanks so much to everyone who followed, favorited or reviewed, you guys are the best!

Guest 1: Thank you so much for your kind words. Ah, I think you have the right of it. I'll make the mokuton a surprise after the timeskip, and you know Hashirama is going to be so horribly nonchalant about it... like, yeah, hey, I grow vicious man-killing vines from the ground now, by the way, how've you been?

Ayee: No death by shark in Bunta's future, I'm afraid. I LOL'ed though.

cwrywn: Thank you! I'm so glad you like it. Hm, right now, she is scrambling to find contingency plans for Uzushio, but it's hard because 1) she doesn't know much about the circumstances of the attack, 2) all she knows it's so far in the future she'll be old/dead by the time it happens. So right now, she's thinking either A) join Konoha under its immediate protection, B) an advanced barrier seal of some kind, but that'd need a lot of chakra to sustain it. Like, a lot. Re: Madara, she'll meet him after the timeskip, as teens, and won't that be a blast. His entrance will be very... let's say.. dramatic.

ReadingnerdOtaku: OMG, they do! I'm so glad you pointed that out. Why does canon never give us anything on Tsunade and Mito's relationship? Mito lived to old age, you know... she definitely helped raise Tsunade... so why no flashbacks *cries*

Elise142: Yay, thanks for the fic suggestion! I really liked it. I thought I'd be a bit lost since I didn't read the other installments from the universe, but it stands super well on its own too.

brakes yeah: more seals next chapter ;)

xenocanaan, jotitoboy, Aurora9871, BlackDove WhiteDove, and various guests: thank you so much, you guys are all wonderful :D


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